Page 121 of Take Hold of Me

His blue eyes change from despair to desire in a blink. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” His lips crash on mine, his hands snaking around my waist. One of his large hands climbs up my back while the other dips lower, onto my butt. He adjusts our position so that we are touching everywhere, only our clothes between us.

He devours my mouth, like a desperate man needing water. In response, I rejoice in his embrace. He has finally admitted that we belong together. I pull back. The terror of the day urges me on. “I was so scared. And then you were not at the airport.”

“I’m so sorry, Ems. I couldn’t get there. Traffic was stopped. And I couldn’t get any information about you—”

He was coming for me! “I have been given another chance.Wehave been given another chance. And I am not going to waste it.”

He runs his hands over my hair, cupping my cheeks in his palms. “Me neither. All that matters is that you’re here with me. Safe.” He seeks my lips again.

My head reels with overwhelming passion. I run my hands down his chest, ending at the hem of his t-shirt. Grasping it, I pull upward and toss it over my shoulder. My lips trace the tattoo over his heart while his hands grip my shirt and pull it out of my trousers. When he cannot get it off me, he smothers me with another kiss.

“Up,” he commands, grasping my hands in his.

We stand together and his fingers fumble with the buttons down the front of my shirt. With a growl, he grabs both sides and rips it open, buttons flying in every direction. Before I can respond, he has undone my bra and it joins the remnants of my shirt on the patio.

My hands land on his belt just when his land on mine. Within seconds, we are both standing naked, the sunshine kissing our bodies. Wills takes a foil packet from his pocket and looks around, his eyes landing on the hammock I had installed last month—when I needed to feel close to him, even though we were apart.

Without a word, he picks me up and strides over to the hammock. My feet contact the cool grass for a split second before he lands on the material and reaches for my waist. I fall over his body, the hammock rocking.

Sprawled on top of him, I close my hand around his erection straining between the two of us. He tugs on my nipples with his teeth. His finger descends to my sex. In a frenzy, I straddle him, causing the hammock to swing wildly with our movement. Our lips fuse together. He places his hands on my hips.

I take him inside my body, rendering moans from both of us. He is so deep in this position, yet I press my chest to his. Lying on top of him, our bodies connected, my hips rocking according to his fingers guiding me. Urging me to move.

And I do. Swiveling my hips downward and back up, only to repeat the same movements. My lips seek his. We are sweat-slicked, interconnected. Soon—too soon—tingling begins at my core.

“I am going to come,” I exclaim.

He grunts and pistons his hips higher so that his pelvic bone makes contact with my clit and I go soaring. Head thrown backward, eyes squeezed shut, I clench around him and scream my release as flashes of light play behind my eyelids.

A guttural sound escapes his lips when he thrusts one last time, then surges into me. His body shudders as his climax overtakes him. Unable to hold myself up any longer, my arms collapse and I flop over him, gasping for breath.

The hammock swings as his legs curl around my body, still connected in the deepest way possible. I do not have the energy to lift even my pinky, so I snuggle into the crook of his neck and enjoy his clean scent, now with an overlay of musk.

“Ems,” his hand reaches up to run through my hair. “You’re here. You’re alive.” He grips the bottom of my locks. “You’re mine.”

“No, Wills. You are mine.”

We proceed to prove to each other that we both are correct.

Sometime later, we have moved to my bed. Wills kisses me, then looks deep into my eyes. “Ems, I didn’t mean those awful things I said to you in my apartment.”

I place my finger on his lips. “Shhh. I know. I did not mean what I said either.”

His lip quirks up. “Au contraire,” he utters in French, causing me to giggle. “You were right about my needing therapy. I’ve started.”

I throw my arms around his shoulders. “Oh, Wills.” And I kiss him, my strong man who finally admitted he is not so strong as to refuse help.

He pulls back, running his hands up and down my back. “My God, Ems. I’m so thankful you weren’t hurt.”

“We can get through this. Together.” I pull him in for another hug. I am thankful, too. My new lease on life spurs me to tell him about the meeting with my attorney tomorrow. As I tell him what MonsieurPrice did to me, his whole body tenses. “I am okay. I am going to go public as soon as my attorney gets everything organized. He told me that a few other models from the Agency—both women and men—have come to him with similar stories. I have to protect anyone else from having to go through this.” My mind drifts to Geonna. I shake my head. “No one else.”

Wills trails a finger down my cheek. “I’m sorry you had to go through what you did.” He kisses me. “But I am so proud of you for making the decision to come forward.”

“I never thought of myself as a member of the #MeToo movement, but I am. And it needs to stop.”

“You’re making it happen. Price,” his voice goes cold, “will be run out of the industry. As will his buddy Wade Block. Thanks to you. You’re so courageous and strong.”

I nod, exhausted both physically and emotionally. Locked together, we drift off to sleep.

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